


See?

by telera



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, Fingerfucking, Fisting, M/M, Nothing too explicit, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/pseuds/telera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Lecter helps Will to empathize with the Shrike's copycat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See?

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler for Episode 3 - Potage.

Dr. Lecter's fingers are long and bony. And they _hurt_.

 

'You of all people should know mind are body are one, Will' Dr. Lecter murmurs as he cleans his mouth with an immaculate napkin 'Your gift... You open your mind, but shut down your body. Such a waste of potential'.

 

Will pierces a cherry tomato with a sharp, silver fork and _sees_. The antlers impaling the girl's body, the bullets ripping Hobb's chest in a mimicry of her wounds. He is his own kind of Shrike now. And hopes Dr. Lecter keeps his secret.

 

'The kabuki killer' Will pushes the salad away hoping to change then subject in a non too obvious way. And if it's too obvious, he doesn't care.

 

Dr. Lecter raises an eyebrow.

 

'The copycat? Why call him that'.

 

'He wears a mask. Like in the kabuki theatre. We'll never find him'.

 

'Hum' Dr. Lecter takes a sip of red wine 'You mean Nicholas Boyle. He's dead now, Will. Nothing to worry about'.

 

'It doesn't make sense. He's too young, too...' Will plays with the stray cranberries on his dish 'Why kill his own sister? Ripping her lungs out like that and exposing her in the middle of a field and-- How did he have access to the Shrike's file to imitate him? And Marissa now, it's just- just-'

 

Will trails off and Dr. Lecter leaves his knife on the tablecloth. Aligns it with the rest of the silverware.

 

'You're missing a motive, Will. But a sadistic psychopath requires none. You know that'.

 

'Yes, but-'

 

'Pleasure needs no motive. Neither does pain. Not for your kabuki killer anyway. They're an end in themselves. That's the missing link your body can provide, but your brain refuses to reach for that knowledge. Why, Will?'

 

There is a long pause, then Dr. Lecter leaves the table and offers Will his hand.

 

'Let me show you'.

 

Will shivers. Badly. But he follows Dr. Lecter to the master bedroom because he needs to know. To understand. _To see_. 

  

'Fear nothing, Will' he promises, and Will wants to believe him. But the bed is like a cutting tray, and of course, Dr. Lecter would never wear latex gloves to touch him. Or his food. It would be disrespectful. Dr. Lecter strips Will off his clothing with his bare, warm hands, slowly, carefully, as if he were peeling a particularly difficult pomegranate.

 

'On your hands and knees, please' Dr. Lecter instructs, and Will obeys, wondering if he is worthy of the pristine white sheets.

 

'Hands behind your back' comes the next and last order, and Will wonders if Abraham also tied down his child, or if Isaac resisted the ropes. He won't resist Dr. Lecter's soft silk handkerchief. It would be rude.

 

His fingers are long and bony, and feel like a cold metallic apple corer. Will cries and struggles because they _hurt_ , but then his body opens up to them, like Cassie Boyle's body opened to the impaling antlers. Will accepts the stretching, merciless fingers, and after a while he wants more, _needs_ more. For a feverish moment Will wishes his body were mounted on the stag's head, pierced everywhere in a final enlightenment. But he is begging in Dr. Lecter's bed, which he supposes, must be as good. And it is, because when the fingers give way to the knuckles, Will understands. The pain is so unbearable it is exquisite, and now, now it makes sense, the killings, Cassie, the kabuki killer who takes for pleasure and revels in the taking, just as Will is doing right now. There are tears and sweat and blood, but Dr. Lecter is unflinching and he feeds Will his whole fist to the wrist,  pretty much as he would force chicken soup down the throat of a sick patient. And there is nothing sexual in it, just a hard, necessary lesson for Will to take. His semen is proof that he has finally understood. Dr. Lecter is not disgusted by it, he simply smiles. After all, the melted fat of a roasted goose is the best part of it. Its distilled quintessence.


End file.
